Third Wheeling On My Own
by redskiez
Summary: An unnamed narrator sits at the café and observes a couple.


Beta'd by SweetAlphaChild.

* * *

There's something special about cafés. The people that come and go here are unique and the chances of seeing them again are minimal. Some of the people here are students, but most of them are outsiders.

I see the outsiders once at least and twice at most. I never see them the third time. I like to think about them sometimes. I like to imagine what their lives are like outside of the brief moments where our lives cross. It grounds me. It forces me to understand that the world is filled with people who are more or less just as important or unimportant as me.

I look up from my mass of papers and laptop and my third cup of coffee to find that the same pair of men are sitting at the table across from me for the third time.

The last time I saw these two, I managed to catch their names. Tobi and Deidara. Though it seems like Tobi's real name is Obito instead, because that's the name he gives the barista. They have to be close, I think, or I would have heard Tobi's real name first.

They always order the same thing: a chicken and mushroom pie and a large black coffee for Tobi and a blueberry muffin and a standard green tea latte for Deidara.

Deidara is a student here. He always drones on about how his art history lecturer has the most boring voice. He'd copy him, repeating something he'd said earlier that day, during one of his lessons. Tobi would always laugh.

For his part, Tobi talks about work. He's probably a graduate or doing his masters. Or maybe he's just a normal guy who's just good friends with Deidara, a college kid, in a completely normal way. Tobi seems like a nice guy. His face is scarred, which they never really talk about, but he acts like a real nice guy.

If he's a terrible person, then he's hiding it very well.

"He said something about true art being eternal," Deidara is saying, waving his fork in the air. Deidara likes to talk with his hands and Tobi likes to watch them. You can tell. His one good eye is glued to those hands with painted black nails.

"For a college professor, he's really stupid, hm," Deidara continues. "If he knows anything about art, and I mean anything, he should know that real art isn't everlasting at all."

And Tobi nods like he knows exactly what Deidara is talking about. He also looks at him like there's nothing else in this café, like Deidara is the only thing he can see. And Deidara looks at him like there's no one else he can talk to about his art and his stupid college professor. And I can't stop staring at the two of them looking at each other.

Deidara must have felt it because he turns his head toward me. I look down at my laptop and pretend to be doing research, typing on the keyboard and swiping on the trackpad. When he looks back at Tobi, I watch them over the rim of the laptop screen.

They're talking about something else now and I'm riveted. I can listen to them talk all day. It doesn't matter what. I'll listen to it. There's something about it.

Tobi eats while he talks. Deidara makes a face at him and he grabs a napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. He's saying something, but it's too soft for me to hear. I imagine that he's saying something sweet, probably like, "You've got a little over here."

One of them barks out a laugh at what the other said. I watch them. They drink their coffee and then they talk about Sunday.

It's the winter solstice, Tobi says, and he wants Deidara to join the family dinner.

"Isn't it a little too early for me to join family dinners like that?" Deidara asks.

Tobi only shrugs and smiles.

"Aren't your family…" Deidara lets himself trail off. I think about what he could mean, but then decide that it's better if I don't know.

"Don't worry about it," Tobi says. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it."

Deidara is quiet, for a bit, then he says, "Alright, I'll see if I can go. I still have exams."

"It's the holidays," says Tobi.

"I still have exams," replies Deidara.

"Alright," Tobi says. He takes out his phone and types something. "Let me know soon, alright?" he asks as he's typing. "My grandma will need to prepare something extra if you're coming."

"Oh, are you not eating out, hm?"

"We don't," Tobi says.

Deidara snorts and nods once. "I'll let you know as soon as possible, yeah."

They finish their coffee and their food and then Deidara mentions something about his classes. I look down at my computer as the two of them lapse into another nonsense conversation. My document is still blank, the text input blinking at me. I think about this Sunday.

My parents are miles away. Maybe I should call them and say I'll come back for dinner, it's the winter solstice, after all. I'll think about it. I might do it. I glance at my phone.

"Do you want me to walk you back?" Tobi asks as the two of them get up.

"No, thanks," Deidara says. "My classmates would ask questions."

Tobi laughs. "Is it that bad?"

"It's bad when I don't want to answer any of them, yeah," Deidara snorts. He stands on his tiptoes and meets Tobi's kiss halfway. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye," Tobi says, giving Deidara another kiss on the lips before letting him go. When Deidara leaves the café, Tobi turns and stares right at me. I don't bother looking away.

We stare at each other for a moment and then, strangely, I think Tobi smiles at me. He dips his head and leaves the café. And I just sit there, alone, with my things on the table and my phone on mute.

* * *

Hey guys, Red here!

I have recently been reading Raymond Carver's short stories and it prompted me to want to try and write something different. This is purely experimental writing but I hope you enjoyed it either way. I would really appreciate solid feedback on this one because this is new to me. I would summarize this thing as "T/ObiDei through the eyes of an unnamed narrator."

Thank you for reading! Follow me on Tumblr (redskiez dot net) and I also have a ko-fi (ko-fi dot com forward slash redskiez). Please consider supporting me for what I do and buy me a coffee.


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